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Readers can be forgiven for expecting Harris-Gershon to
tread on familiar ground in his Memoir of Jerusalem. But this
enormously compelling title smashes preconceived notions while
delivering an unforgettable and provocative story about the roots of
terrorism and the nature of victimhood ...

Bracing, intense, and relentless, this is a
book about how we as humans get to the darkest of places and the
questions we must ask to find our way out. A transformative reading
experience. — Colleen Mondor

Fierce ... A tale of redemption and new beginnings and of truly
embracing the other. Harris-Gershon’s story is not really about Middle
East politics so much as it is a story of healing—a debate about whether
South African–style reconciliation and restorative dialogue can really
bring about closure after an event of unspeakable pain and violence." — Dahlia Litwick

It is a story about how a great personal trauma can lead to a journey
that upends long-held beliefs and ideas. The terrific thing about this
book is that the author manages to tell his story without
sentimentality, grandiose pronouncements, or false humility. He pulls
the reader in with an unpretentious, laconic style, and with his
refusal to shy away from acknowledging his own flaws." —Lisa Goldman

The force of the blast tore through the ceiling, blew out doors, tossed tables
across the cafeteria. Salt shakers, plastic trays, and barbed nails were
sent flying. And after the flying, there was wailing. And after the wailing,
anarchy, as students in torn khakis and hijabs scrambled over the splintered
tables. After that, they say people began stuffing pages from their Hebrew
exercise books into the wounds.
(Read more.)

When the phone rang in our Jerusalem apartment,
I was eating spaghetti with sun-dried tomato pesto, red-tinged olive
oil dripping down the strands of pasta, my lips greasy. Smacking.

I put down the fork and answered. "Hello?"

"David? This is Esther. Your wife, Jamie, is here with me. There was
an explosion at the university, but I just want you to know she's fine.
OK? She's fine." (Click.)

I was still chewing, twirling the fork, knew I didn't know an Esther,
and didn't know what she was talking about. After a few seconds,
puzzled, I thought, That was nice of her; thought, There must have been some kind of electrical explosion; thought, Keep eating. Although I'd lived in Israel for two years, had been anticipating this, fearing it, I was oblivious. An electrical explosion.
As if people routinely called strangers to alert them of transformers
on the fritz or wires sparking overhead. But as I continued to eat
lunch, the beginning of unease, the sense that something was off,
crouched silently.

"David. This is Esther. Jamie's OK. But she's lightly hurt. They're
taking her to the university hospital. She wants you to meet her there."
(Click.)

Lightly hurt. She was still
fine, I thought, probably just some cuts and bruises. A scrape here or
there. Skinned knee. I didn't rush, called our program's dean to let him
know what had happened while gathering some clothes, saying into the
phone, Lightly.

His voice was quiet, knowing, after living in Israel for decades, that the word lightly when conjoined with injured did not mean she's fine. Finally, he asked, "David, what does that mean, lightly? What did they say?"

"I don't know," I said, the tears suddenly rising, sticking in the
throat, the panic, the fight, the flight. I was lost. In over my head.
Clueless, I began packing, frantic, then sprinted down a flight of
stairs, ran to the street, flagged down a cab.

The driver rolled down a window and smiled through a cigarette.

"Where to?"

"The university."

"Sorry. Impossible. Place is blocked off. No way."

I opened the door, got in anyway. Slammed it shut. "Look. My wife was
injured in the attack. She's at the hospital. I don't care how you do
it. But you get me there. Now. Understand?"

Early Friday morning, two masked settlers crouched before a home in the West Bank village of Duma, touched their fingers to its cold walls and nodded. Then they spray painted the words "vengeance" and "long live the Messiah" before breaking windows, throwing firebombs inside and fleeing as a family of four burned in their beds.

Eli Lake, formerly a senior national security correspondent for Newsweek and current columnist for Bloomberg, decided today to represent in a single Tweet all that is toxic within the American Jewish community when it comes to discussing Israel. Lake, himself Jewish, responded to fellow Jewish journalist Glenn Greenwald’s critique of congressional Iran-deal supporters with the [...]

When an historic nuclear agreement with Iran was announced on July 14, Israel's Prime Minister, Binyamin Netanyahu, immediately lambasted it as a "historic mistake." He then warned that Israel would not be bound by it, and pledged to lobby Congress to oppose it. And he did so after claiming that this opposition was on behalf of "the entire Jewish people."

Dear black Americans,
I'm a white, Jewish man from Pittsburgh who, over the last year, has watched videos of Eric Garner being murdered, read about Tamir Rice being murdered, and shuddered over Ferguson after Mike Brown was murdered. On television and online, I've been confronted with disturbing images of black bodies being destroyed. And I'm telling you, I can't bear it any longer. I can't bear to learn any more details about Sandra Bland. I'm sick to my stomach, losing sleep, feeling unsteady. Yet you keep showing me images, telling me stories. And I have to look away.

The historic accord reached Tuesday between Iran and a United-States-led coalition of world powers has inspired strong and varied reactions across the world. Among these, the initial reaction offered by Israel's Prime Minister, Binyamin Netanyahu, has become a point of focus.

Over 300 Jewish and Palestinian women will be fasting together over the next six weeks in a tent outside Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu's residence in Jerusalem. Those fasting are part of Women Wage Peace, which formed during the Gaza war last summer as a collective voice standing against Israel's brutal assault. Their fast is taking place from July 7 to August 26, marking the 50-day span of last year's violent conflict, in which over 2,251 Palestinians and 73 Israelis were killed.

Breaking the Silence has been attacked for not producing a real work of journalism. However, its intimate report on the fighting in Gaza is not an act of journalism. It is a moment of activism by (mostly) Israeli Jews who demand that Israelis face the unjust in order to create a just society.

Israel's Prime Minister, Binyamin Netanyahu, has obliterated what it means to be 'pro-Israel,' setting Israel on a course towards national suicide which mainstream American Jewish organizations seem intent on enabling.

David Harris-Gershon grew up on the outskirts of Atlanta, dreaming of becoming an NBA point guard after winning the "Mr. Hustle" award at the Bobby Cremins Basketball Camp. (The engraved plaque still hangs in his childhood room, along with a framed bar mitzvah picture in which he's wearing washed-out jeans and a full bottle of hair spray.)

When visions of NBA stardom dissipated after scoring just one point during his junior varsity season, David was set adrift. A short, scrappy Jewish kid betrayed by his inability to jump, shoot or play defense without it looking like a comedy routine.

Eventually, he made his way to the University of Georgia where, after escaping the clutches of Greek life, David took a class with the poet and mystic Coleman Barks. And while the experience did nothing to dampen David's sarcastic nature and deadpan wit, it did turn his focus upon both writing and teaching (as well as a BA in English).

Seriously, it did.

Today, David is a writer for Tikkun magazine, an award-winning educator, and the author of What Do You Buy the Children of the Terrorist Who Tried to Kill Your Wife? He received an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina, Wilmington and an MA in Education from Hebrew University in Jerusalem.

He's currently at work on another book which will undoubtedly have a shorter title.

Note: the background image on this site is of a Banksy piece in Bethlehem taken by Michael Rose.